


of ruminants & romance

by dollsome



Category: Galavant (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Richard gives his queen a gift. Madalena is, as always, so over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of ruminants & romance

**Author's Note:**

> I am pretty sure this show is the show of my every dream!!! And of course I am all over this hilarious awful dynamic. You don't just sing a duet called "Maybe You're Not The Worst Thing Ever" and get away with it without me shipping you.
> 
> This daft little romp was written for a prompt from theladyragnell over on Tumblr: _Madalena/Richard + Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”._

Madalena stares at it.

“What,” she says at last, “is  _that_ , and what is it doing in my bedchamber?”

Her husband beams at her – that insipid, hopeful grin that hunts her at every turn. Truly, that smile is the worst way to start the day.

 _One day, I’ll claw your eyes out,_  she thinks, to make herself feel better.

“It’s a goat, my lamb,” he announces proudly. Then he frowns slightly. “Well, that was a confusing choice of pet name, wasn’t it? All very ruminant. Let’s try again.  _Ahem hem._  It’s a goat, my tulip!”

“I hate tulips,” Madalena informs him frostily.

“Figures,” he grumbles.

“And I know it’s a goat,” she snaps. “I’m not a simpleton.”

“You asked,” he says, wounded.

“You’re pathetic at discerning sarcasm.”

“Yes, well, you’re pathetic at … nice-being.” The sentence ends in an emotional mumble.

She glares. “If you cry again, I’ll skin you alive, I swear it.”

“Pfft! What’s this about crying? When have I ever  _cried_?” he asks, eyes shining.

“You’re literally crying right now,” Madalena says.

“I’m not crying,” Richard sniffs. “I’m merely allergic to meanypants bitches.”

Madalena scoffs in disgust and turns her attention to the goat. Then she scoffs in disgust again.

The goat’s white coat gleams, and it appears to be … covered in glitter. And bows. Bows everywhere. The ears! The horns! The tail! (Not the nether regions at least, thank God.) It’s also got a truly horrifying pair of cherub wings tied to its skinny back.

“His name is Boy Jenny,” her kingly idiot husband says. “Because your first goat’s name was Jenny, but this one’s a boy.”

“He’s sparkly,” Madalena grimaces.

“In a manly, roguish sort of way, befitting the royal goat!”

The goat tries to shake off the cherub wings. It fails.

“No,” Madalena says flatly.

“Well, that’s very ungrateful,” huffs her husband. “It wasn’t easy convincing Gareth to give a goat a makeover, you know. He protested something fierce. But in the end, he did it! And he did a smashing job, if you ask me. Just look at the little fellow. He’s glowing.” Richard reaches down to scratch behind the goat’s ears. The goat tries to nip at his fingers, and Richard pulls his hand back.

“Why would you have Gareth do it in the first place?” Madalena demands, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a barnyard animal, not some kind of fancy concubine.”

“Because it belongs to my queen, and its beauty must match your own,” Richard says grandly.

She puts a hand on her hip. “So I’m as beautiful as a tarty, trussed up goat.”

“He’s not tarty! This goat is a class act.”

The goat bleats and kicks Richard right in the kingly shins. Richard gasps and doubles over.

“He’s all right,” Madalena decides.

“And the best part is … you won’t even have to eat this one,” Richard says, wiggling his eyebrows waggishly as he tries to breathe through the pain.

She contemplates eating the goat, just to spite him.

But (she ponders, as the goat gives her a look that seems to say,  _You and me – stuck with this idiot, hmm_?) it was thoughtful, in a stupid way. He listened to something she said – something sad, no less – and then tried to make her happier. Most men wouldn’t even be able to accomplish that.

Most men just swoop around saving you from things and being not at all understanding or supportive when you happen to make a prudent financial decision for your future.

Even when you meet a nice man (a nice jester, to be precise), well, he’s liable to start pulling endless scarves out of strange places at the most inopportune moments.

Might as well give the husband his turn.

“All right,” she says abruptly, deciding  _to hell with it._  “Let’s do this.”

“W—what?” he says, baffled.

She narrows her eyes. “Let’s. Do. It.”

He stares at her, his own eyes wide with disbelief.

“… Are you talking to me or the goat?” he asks at last.

She answers by pouncing on him.

“Mufghgfhhjhphggggg!” he cries rather smooshily against her mouth. Once he manages to actually press his lips against hers, it’s not too bad, really. His breath is very fresh for 1296.

“Baa!” says the goat.

“But Boy Jenny’s watching,” Richard protests as she attacks his doublet.

“Let him,” snarls Madalena.

“Oooh!” says Richard, happily scandalized. “It’s weird, but you know what, I’m up for it.”

“I’m not,” says the goat. “Please, eat me instead.”

Madalena freezes.

“Seriously,” says the goat.

“Did I not mention he’s a magic goat who talks?” says Richard. “Only the best for my lady.”

Madalena glares at him, disentangles herself, and grabs the goat by one sad cherub’s wing. She marches the creature out of the room.

“ _Thank you,_ ” the goat says, safe in the corridor.

“No problem,” she says. See, she’s perfectly capable of being a lovely person. As long as it’s to goats.

Then she returns to the bedchamber.

Richard is sitting at the foot of her bed, looking vaguely puzzled and covered in kiss marks.

She feels a little thrill. Romantic? Sadistic? Who’s to say, really?

“ _You_ ,” Madalena growls, “are in trouble.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” protests Richard. “I’ve just tried to do something nice for you, and it’s not my fault if you’re some kind of cold-hearted monster who hates talking animals; what did talking animals ever do to you? It’s not as if they’re something properly nasty, like peasants—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.  _Sexy_  trouble, you dolt.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then.” He does a rather jaunty little dance. “Do bring it, milady.”

“I still hate you,” Madalena says, and goes right to town on that beardy goat-gifting nincompoop.


End file.
